


Slip-Ups

by AdrenalineRevolver



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Daddy But Wholesome, Family Feels, Freudian Slips, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Crutchie/Jack Kelly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 12:32:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18234959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrenalineRevolver/pseuds/AdrenalineRevolver
Summary: Sometimes you say what you feel rather than what you mean. Jack was no stranger to being on the receiving end of that. Neither was Spot to be honest.





	1. Manhattan

**Author's Note:**

> let's just pretend that use of the word 'daddy' in a romantic way started before 1910. i mean supposedly prostitutes called their pimps that starting in the 1600's so like.

“Race, I grabbed somethin’ to eat on the way home.” Jack tossed him a little brown bag. Racetrack never remembered to do it himself so Jack had fallen into the habit of getting him something and having Race pay him back. Well, usually pay him back. Jack didn’t always “remember” to ask for the money.

“Thanks, dad.” Racetrack opened the bag but paused when he noticed the room go silent. “What?”

Everyone was staring at him and Racetrack glanced from person to person with wide eyes. It was like the moment where a stray cat realized it was being sized up by a pack of dogs who wanted to play it to death. Jack’s stomach knotted in sympathy. 

“Dad?” Albert grinned and leaned against the table. “Did you just call Jack dad?”

“I didn’t-“ Race started. 

“Daddy?” Romeo whispered with awe, as if he had heard the most beautiful thing to ever be said. 

“Daddy!” Elmer repeated with glee. 

“I didn’t call him daddy!” Racetrack’s face was starting to heat up. It usually took a lot to actually get Racetrack of all people to blush. 

The group erupted in laughter, periodically yelling ‘daddy’ like demented little parrots. 

Davey hid his face in his hands as Les looked around in excited confusion. 

“You did though!” Albert managed between laughter.

“Alright alright, leave him be.” Jack raised his hands. It was probably best to step in before the teasing became too much and a fight broke out. “He’s not the only one to slip up.” 

Racetrack honestly hadn’t been the only one to make that slip he was just the first to do it with an audience. The younger kids did it the most often, especially the ones who were new to selling, but the others did it too. 

Just last winter when Albert had to stay in with a virus of some sort he’d called Jack ‘sir’ when Jack stayed behind to look after him. Judging by the way he tried to smother himself to death after he didn’t mean it in a ‘leader’ way. Jack hadn't been sure what to say to it other than to gently order him to get better. They'd never mentioned it afterwards.

Romeo had done it too. He’d rolled out of bed late during the fall and went out to sell without a coat. When Jack made him take his and chewed him out for risking his health he’d actually said ‘Da-Jack it’s fine.’ Romeo pretended not to notice and Jack had let him. Letting it slip under the radar was easier than talking about it.

That's how it almost always went with the guys referring to him as something he's not. They just didn't talk about it. The closest anyone ever got to talking about it was when one of the younger kids had some nightmare and called out for their parents, as Jack was heading down to check on it Finch was headed up. All he'd said was 'new kid needs you.' Jack never really let himself stop to think about what all that really meant. He was honestly a bit afraid of what it meant.

Jack didn’t have to point them out specifically for all of them to flinch at the reminder. He hated to bring down the mood but at a certain point it just needed to happen.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Crutchie grinned, in retrospect Jack should have realized he was up to something. “Usually you don’t get called ‘daddy’ in public.”

“Public?” Romeo hopped up on the closest chair with a grin. With a quick gesture from Jack, Albert grabbed the chair to keep it from tipping as Romeo repeated. “Public?!”

“Yeah, lets go wait this one out.” David grabbed Les’ hand and pulled him along.

“I don’t get it.” Les looked around the room. “What’s so funny?”

Jack sighed and pulled his cap down to cover his face. “What have you done?”

“Saved Racetrack’s life.” Crutchie leaned on his elbows and tried to hide his smug look behind his hands. He didn't even flinch when Jack tossed his hat at him.

“So whatcha being called in private then?” Finch yelled over the laughter.

“At what cost?” He gestured towards the chaotic room. “This is gonna be all week.”

“Sorry, Cowboy.” He wasn’t sorry; Jack could tell by the way his lips desperately wanted to curl unto a smile. 

“Cowboy?” Albert gasped and his eyes lit up. He nearly dropped the chair and Romeo with it. “What’s he ridin?”

Racetrack sighed in relief as the room burst into giggles and questions. He could have walked in dressed like a girl from the Bowery and it would be totally forgotten in the face of the possibility that Jack gets called ‘cowboy’ in bed. Alright, maybe Jack could take being put through the ringer for the evening, if just for his sake.

Though, Jack had to wonder if this happened to the other leaders. He’d bet that Brooklyn never had this brand of chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual photo of Crutchie: >:3c
> 
> These are both quite short but only so much length can be found in a cute shitpost.


	2. Brooklyn

“Get this! New girl sold out on her first day!” Hotshot waltzed in with a girl of maybe seven in tow, the newest addition to the Brooklyn crew. Hotshot didn't usually sell with a partner but he'd made an exception to show the girl the ropes for a while. 

Her little pigtails flew out behind her as she ran right up to Spot. “Daddy, look how much money I got!” She quickly dug out two little fistfuls of change and handed it over to Spot. 

The entire lodging house ground to a halt. Poor Myron stumbled over his own shoes and hit the floor like a sack of bricks. Sounded about like one too.

"I'm okay." He mumbled into the floor but made no move to get up.

Just as the girl seemed to notice the extra attention Spot rested his free hand on the top of her head. “That’s great! Why don’t you tell me how you did it and I can help you count everything.” The voice their leader used when talking to the kids was probably the softest they ever heard it, it never seemed to quite fit after a day of seeing him run things. 

“Okay!” She grabbed his arm and excitedly led him towards the bunkroom. “Hotshot told me to smile real big and to make sure I call people miss and mister-“ The door shutting behind them cut off the rest of her story about the day.

Hotshot clutched at his chest. “My heart. I think I’m gonna die.” He dramatically splayed himself out on the nearest table. "If you buy me a grave marker make sure it says my heart just couldn't handle something so sweet." 

“So, Princess then?” Kenny dubbed the girl. Only fitting if she was going to call the king of Brooklyn that and get away with it.

“Princess.” Hotshot agreed immediately and sat up. "She'll love it."

“Yeah, it’s cute now but what about in a few years?” Myron rang his hat in his hands as he stood. “I don’t wanna be an accessory to murder if I don’t have ta.”

“What the hell?” Hotshot laughed and walked over. He tried to take the guy's worries seriously, 'cause apparently they were actually serious to him, but every once and a while Myron would just jump from A to Z with no real explanation of how he got there. "When does murder come inta play?"

“Well ya know how guys are ta girlsies. Some guy is gonna proposition her or somethin' and then Spot is gonna actually kill ‘em. And then we’re gonna have ta help sink the body and I don’t know how ta sink a body and then the police will notice that the creep is missin’ and they’ll care more about them than us and-“

Hotshot threw an arm over Myron’s shoulders to keep him from working himself into a panic. “You should drink more.” It's what he would do. 

“Besides, would it be murder or extermination?” Kenny added with a grin. “Nothin’ll happen if everybody is respectful of everybody else and if somebody’s gotta go, they gotta go. Just how it is.”

“Well yeah, I just would rather not go ta jail.” Myron sighed, probably resigning himself to future crimes rather than actually feeling comforted. 

“Rather is the key word.” Hotshot noted and pat him on the shoulder. “Plenty of things I’d rather not do. Like-”

“What are you three going on about?” Spot asked from behind them. 

Myron jumped straight up in the air. Spot could be surprisingly silent when he decided not to announce himself. One of these days it was going to give someone a heart attack, probably Myron.

“Just a bit of future-proofing.” Kenny shrugged. “Ya know. Stuff.”

“How much did you make, Princess?” Hotshot asked with a bright smile. 

Spot raised an eyebrow at the name but didn’t say anything as the conversation turned to Princess’ earnings for the day. She was happily hanging onto his arm and swinging it as she regaled them with how she made almost an entire dollar. She excitedly explained, in the way that only kids who think they know something special can, that Spot had helped her put the extra away so that when she needs it she has it and that they should do so too. 

Kenny nodded at her sagely words and Myron thrilled her by asking if she had any more advice. 

Hotshot would have paid good money to have a camera on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myron was minding his own business and I slam dunked him with some anxiety. (Or what it would probably be called at the time, neurasthenia.)Dr. Hotshot prescribes liquor. 
> 
> Brooklyn Newsies with complete seriousness: Our leader is is tougher _and_ cuter than yours.

**Author's Note:**

> The brooklyn boys and the manhattan boys have such different ways of showing affection. The brooklyn newsies are like a bunch of giant bros who are like 'bro! i know you don't wanna come to the party because they got that anxiety and stuff but they have cookies here!! I'm stealing you some!'  
> Meanwhile the manhattan newsies are the ones that spam the group chat with your latest spelling mistake until it just becomes incorporated into the group vocabulary.


End file.
